


Horrors Not Yet Known

by Trixree



Category: One Piece
Genre: Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Eventual Smut, First Time, Gay crisis, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Piercings, Sexual Tension, i love this stupid pirate family so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-12-13 22:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixree/pseuds/Trixree
Summary: Sanji doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, is the thing. Of all the times he has seen Zoro shirtless (in battle, mostly) he just… never noticed. The problem is, once he has noticed, Sanji can’t seem to stop noticing. And neither can anyone else.In which Zoro has a nipple piercing and Sanji has a Problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a text convo between me and my partner while I was getting an IV. 
> 
> I headcanon that Zoro has other piercings besides just his earrings. I believe this like other people believe in god okay??? This is a very fundamental belief that I have.

Sanji doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, is the thing. Of all the times he has seen Zoro shirtless (in battle, mostly) he just… never noticed. The problem is, once he has noticed, Sanji can’t seem to stop noticing. And neither can anyone else. 

It happens on a lazy afternoon in Summer waters. It’s sweltering on deck. It’s gotta be over a hundred degrees, easy. The ocean is almost blinding under the gaze of the sun. It’s humid-heat; the kind of heat that bruises you with its weight. Most of the crew has responded accordingly. 

Nami, Robin and Chopper are in the coolest part of the Sunny, the aquarium, sipping cold smoothies and coffee creations Sanji has provided to keep everyone as comfortable as possible. Nami is idly working on a few maps while Robin does some light reading. Chopper is curled up at Robin’s feet, almost like a cat, resting underneath the counter in the dark, sound asleep with an icy smoothie still clutched in his hooves. The drink leaves perspiration marks streaked down Chopper’s fur.

Up on deck, Luffy and Usopp have persuaded Franky to construct a shallow inflatable pool that even Devil Fruit users can safely swim in. Under a massive, banana yellow umbrella, lies a gaudy rubber children’s pool filled with enough water to reach waist-level when the occupants are sitting. Luffy is slumped over the side like a melting slug, Usopp facing him on the opposite side. The infamous straw hat is slung low on his face, but doesn’t quite manage to conceal the distinct smear of white sunscreen across Luffy’s nose. It seems as though Luffy stole a pair of either Robin or Nami’s sunglasses. A purple pair of wide, cat-eye, designer glasses rest over his eyes. There are little rhinestones in the corners. The lenses have a distinct pink tint to them.

Usopp has a smoothie in each hand and a cooler of ice-cubes on his right. He’s been periodically dumping them into the pool when the water starts to warm. (He has poorly concealed his water gun down one leg of his swim trunks. He intends to win the water fight he had been having with Luffy, temporary truce be damned.)

Franky and Brook are reluctantly supervising the aforementioned boys (although neither are doing much supervising). Brook is sound asleep in a lounge chair—his old bones worn out from the heat. Franky is otherwise occupied by the sheer amount of sweat he’s producing. (“This is not super,” he grouses, futilely arranging his deflated, sweaty pompadour into something more presentable.) 

Sanji has spent most of the day in the kitchen, preparing various heat-friendly snacks and hydrating, cooling drinks for his crewmates. He’s successfully distributed the tailor made snacks and drinks to the whole crew, save one member. 

Zoro is in the crow’s nest. He’s always in the crow’s nest, these days. Shortly after the Sunny had set sail, Zoro had claimed the space as his personal gym. When not napping or eating meals with the rest of the Strawhats, Zoro was always there, working out. Luffy tends to be the only one to bother him up there. Everyone found themselves sufficiently deterred after about the third time Luffy was forcefully flung down onto the deck from the nearest open window. 

(Luffy calls it Zoro’s “special spot”, but only when Zoro can’t hear.) 

Sanji usually wouldn’t even bother bringing Zoro a snack or a drink. But, given the unusual circumstances of a truly blistering heat wave, a little invasion of his privacy is probably warranted. Sanji knows for a fact that the other man seldom brings water up to his gym, if he brings anything at all besides his swords. They haven’t had a day like this yet. Sure, they’ve sailed through Summer waters before, but this is a heat wave to rival the climate of Alabasta and everyone is feeling it. Given Zoro’s track record for self preservation, an intervention is probably warranted. 

Besides, Sanji is pretty proud of the drink he made especially for the moss-headed idiot. What ingredient is best to capture the essence of Zoro than green matcha? Sanji snickers to himself the whole climb up to the crow’s nest. The dig is just too good to waste. 

This was his first mistake—entering Zoro’s sacred space when he wasn’t expecting it. 

Upon hearing the door swing open, Zoro stops his rhythmic grunting to pant, “Not now, Luffy.”

“Not Luffy, shithead,” Sanji responds, climbing all the way up and closing the door behind him with his foot. The room is humid, even more humid than outside, and reeks unpleasantly like sweat. Sanji casts his eyes around the room, looking for a sign that the marimo had brought water. He hadn’t. Idiot. 

Zoro turns around to glare at Sanji. 

This is Sanji’s second mistake—meeting Zoro’s glare. 

He’s shirtless, performing squats with a frighteningly massive stack of weights braced across his shoulders. Sweat drips steadily down from his hairline. The towel slung around his (broad, distressingly broad— _ shut up, brain _ ) shoulders is dark and visibly damp. His face is unnaturally flushed, a result of the oppressive, humid heat of the room. 

That’s not what catches Sanji’s eye though. It’s gross, but it’s not what has his jaw dropping open and the drink sliding out of his hand. 

Partially concealed by the towel, something glints off of Zoro’s right pectoral. Something… metal. As Zoro turns, oblivious to Sanji’s dismay, and sets down his weights to come reluctantly retrieve his drink, the towel falls away from him and lands with a disgusting wet slap on the floor. 

“Oh, thanks,” Zoro grumbles, but Sanji doesn’t hear him. 

A straight, gold barbel runs through Zoro’s right nipple. It’s about a quarter of an inch long, at a guess, with gold, spherical ends that resemble small pearls. A drop of sweat rolls down from Zoro’s collar bone, over his chest, passing just beside the piercing. 

Sanji almost swallows his tongue. 

He drops the drink. 

“What the hell, shit-cook!” Zoro is understandably furious. He is also a scant few steps away from Sanji. Amendment— _ the pierced nipple  _ is now a scant few steps away from Sanji. 

“Uh,” Sanji croaks, with all the eloquence the situation warrants. 

The icy matcha drink has gotten into his special summer-weather sandals. His toes are cold and wet. His mouth is bone dry. 

“What the fuck was that for?” 

“ _ Uh,”  _ Sanji says with emphasis. 

Zoro pauses. Takes in the rapid brightening of Sanji’s face. His rage simmers down but doesn’t disappear. The cook looks physically ill. 

“What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, idiot! What is  _ that? _ ” He sounds squeaky, like a mouse, even to his own ears. 

“What’s what?” 

“Y-your  _ nipple! _ ” It’s loud. Way too loud. Why did he shout that? Sanji sends out a furtive prayer to a god that probably doesn’t exist, hoping that the other crew members didn’t hear that. (He also prays, no less desperately, that he _not_ get a nosebleed right this second, thank you very much.)

“Oh?” Zoro looks a little confused. Absently, he brings a hand up and thumbs at the barbell. It shifts through his nipple at the movement, coming to rest at the opposite angle. Zoro tugs at it. “How is this news to you? You’ve seen me shirtless before, idiot-cook.”

Sanji, much to his dismay, had to forgo his usual suit-and-tie for something more accommodating in the oppressive weather. This is his third mistake. 

He prays even  _ harder  _ that his shorts are a little more forgiving of his current situation than they probably are. Zoro absently tugs at the piercing again. Sanji’s dick jerks valiantly in tandem. 

“Well—” Sanji splutters, his volume control shot to shit—”has it  _ always  _ been there?” 

“Um, yes,” Zoro is back to looking pissed, not irritated. 

Luffy chooses this exact moment to scurry up the ladder and come bursting into the room, Usopp hot on his heels. 

“What about Zoro’s nipple?” he asks, apropos of nothing. 

Usopp splutters, trying very hard to smother a laugh. 

“ _ That is what,”  _ Sanji hisses, throwing his hands up in outrage at the gold barbell that rests firmly through Zoro’s nipple. 

Luffy looks confused. “What about it?” 

Usopp has a more fitting reaction. He squeaks like a dog toy and immediately covers his mouth with both hands to keep from laughing. His eyes well with tears of mirth. 

“Oh! Did Sanji and Usopp not know?” Luffy proceeds to giggle in that very obnoxious and particular way he does. Zoro sighs. A vein in his forehead throbs. 

“No, the state of Zoro’s nipples is something I was not informed of, Luffy!” Sanji finds himself hissing. Usopp sounds like he’s having an aneurysm. 

While Luffy laughs like the psychopath he is, a concerned Nami and Franky elbow their way up the ladder, followed by a sleepy-looking Chopper and Robin. 

“What about Zoro’s  _ oh my god—”  _ Nami trails off. 

“Oh my,” Robin says, not sounding particularly affected or impacted one way or the other. 

Franky lets out a boisterous laugh, slinging an arm around Zoro’s sweaty, sticky shoulders. 

“Zoro-bro, I didn’t know you had it in you!” 

Zoro elbows him harshly in the side, but Franky is not deterred. He continues to remark on how  _ suuuper  _ Zoro’s piercing is and how they should  _ totally get matching nipple rings  _ and oh my god—Sanji cannot handle this for a single second longer.

“Oh my god, what the hell is happening right now,” he mutters, sounding not nearly as traumatized as he feels. Franky is fucking  _ touching Zoro’s nipple.  _

“GET OFF, WHAT THE FUCK,” Zoro shoves him aside. Robin covers Chopper’s ears with an extra pair of arms. It is then that Luffy goes in for the kill, wrapping himself around Zoro’s torso and firmly pinching Zoro’s nipple with a delighted “ _ boop!” _

Brook chooses this exact moment to ascend to the crows nest, the last to arrive, and promptly dissolves into absolute hysterics. 

Nami shrieks “ _ Luffy, inappropriate!”  _

“This—” Brook manages between peels of laughter “—this is workplace harassment, yohohoho!” 

Zoro twirls around like an acrobat, bending and contorting his body in a wild, desperate effort to rip Luffy off of his body. His face is the stuff of nightmares. Sanji has never understood the moniker of “demon” more than in this moment. Zoro looks like he’s about four seconds from actual human combustion. He'd probably be happy taking the whole Sunny down with them. 

“Well, you know what they used to say in my day about those who only pierced  _ one ear _ ,” Brooke hums gleefully. 

“What was that?” Robin asks, as calm and collected as can be. 

“Those who pierce one ear are just a little bit queer!” Brook sings, one bony hand slapping the floor in uncontrollable amusement. 

“Ah, dear me,” Robin says contemplatively.

Usopp starts  _ crying.  _

“BROOKE I AM GOING TO SHRED YOU TO PIECES,” Zoro screams, “YOU WILL BE DUST WHEN I AM DONE WITH YOU!” 

Luffy hits the floor flat on his back, belly heaving with laughter. Nami rushes over and stomps on Luffy’s chest, effectively preventing any more slightly-too-inappropriate-for-Chopper-wrestling from occurring. 

“OUT, RIGHT NOW. EVERYONE,” Zoro shouts. His fists are shaking at his side.

“You heard the man, c’mon. That means  _ you,  _ Luffy,” Nami says, picking the Very Dignified Captain of their Very Dignified Pirate Vessel up by the ear. 

Sanji is the  _ first  _ to scramble down the ladder. With enough distance, brain bleach, and time, he will surely forget every haunting thing he has seen today. 

This is his fourth mistake—assuming that this will, in any way, shape, or form, blow over. 

* * *

Dinner is a tense affair. Before Zoro’s arrival, the crew had animatedly been chatting about the events of the afternoon. 

“Has he always had that, Luffy?” 

“Yuuup. Ever since I’ve known Zoro!” 

“I wonder if he had it done in a reputable establishment… piercings can get infected very badly if not properly done! A doctor should probably…” 

“I wonder if he has any other piercings… Oh! Maybe he would get a tattoo like me someday!”

“I think it’s SUUUUUPER that Zoro-bro is into that kinda thing! I’ve long been looking for some body jewelry myself…”

“Yohohoho! How unexpected!” 

“Certainly.” 

“Idiot, ugly, unattractive, nipple-piercing moss-brain bastard…” 

When the door to the kitchen slams open, all conversation (and angry mumbling) comes to an abrupt halt. You could hear a pin drop. (Or Luffy swallow, in this case). 

“Zoro’s late for dinner!” Luffy says near-unintelligibly through a full mouth. Sanji smacks him upside the head with a small grumble to mind his manners. 

Zoro grunts in response, glaring daggers at  _ everyone  _ as he goes to take a seat. Usopp snorts, unable to suppress his laughter. He slaps both hands over his own mouth, but it’s far too late. Zoro kicks him under the table, straight in the shin. Usopp yelps and falls backwards out of his seat. 

“Oh dear,” Robin remarks. 

Zoro sighs the sigh of the long-suffering. “I am not going to answer any questions about it, got it?” he barks out, as unyielding with his words as he is with his swords. 

“Aw, not even one?” Chopper whines, clearly looking concerned. Zoro does not budge. 

“No,” he growls. 

“Not one teeny, tiny question?” Brook chimes in. 

“Especially not from you,” he practically hisses. 

“I have a question, Swordsman-san,” Robin politely announces, even raising her hand. 

“Too bad I  _ don’t  _ have an answer.”

“Well, there must be a story behind such a decision...?” She asks, blinking her eyes wide with faux-innocence. Her slight smirk betrays her. 

“What, like I need a reason?” Zoro says, confident as all get-out and very much Done With All of This. 

Across the table, Luffy’s eyes glint with mischief and his mouth opens wide. Promptly, Zoro kicks him in the shin, even more brutally than he had kicked Usopp. Luffy promptly chokes on his food and falls backwards off the bench.

Sanji is too emotionally exhausted to bitch out Zoro for sassing the beautiful, wonderful, simply-curious Robin. 

See, the thing is, Sanji is  _ not attracted to men.  _ Not at all. Sure, maybe he kissed a boy (or two) during his time at the Baratie, but that was simply the ardor of youth and nothing more. Sure,  _ maybe  _ he and one of those boys took things just a little bit father, but that was only because they were fifteen and sixteen, respectively, and  _ The Ardor of Youth  _ is a powerful drug. He isn’t gay. He can’t be gay because he also loves women— _ only loves women.  _ One can’t possibly be gay, even if one kisses men, if they kiss women and like it  _ more.  _ That’s a fact. 

So, Sanji isn’t gay and he definitely isn’t attracted to men, even if he’s kissed and fooled around with one or two (or three). Zoro is just particularly infuriating. And he just so happens to be infuriating in a way that gets Sanji’s dick hard sometimes, is all. There’s nothing to it. It happens sometimes. 

But this… Sanji can’t deny the thrill of seeing that shiny piece of metal stuck through Zoro’s ( _ perfectly biteable) _ absolutely normal, not arousing nipple. Maybe he has a latent, undiscovered  _ thing  _ about piercings. That must be it.

As he eats, Zoro hunches over his food to protect it from Luffy’s grabby hands. The fabric of his too-tight shirt stretches across his pecs. The outline of the piercing is clearly,  _ tantalizingly,  _ visible, jutting out from the fabric. 

With a loud, uncontrollable, agonized groan, Sanji flops forward over the counter and faceplants into the cold, unforgiving stone surface. 

“You okay Cook-bro?” 

“No, and I am never going to be again,” Sanji moans, in agony. 

“What? We can’t understand you with your head down like that,” Nami cuts in. 

His only response is what appears to be a muffled sob and a guttural, "The All-Blue isn't worth this." If only the table hears him, then, well. That's perfectly fine.

* * *

So maybe Sanji dreams about the fucking piercing (and fucking between the perfect pecs that house the piercing) but it’s not like he’ll ever admit that even on the pain of death. And, okay, maybe Sanji jerks off to the sight of Zoro pinching and moving the barbell once (or twice). But again, no one will ever know about it, so it’s almost like it never happened, right? 

“I’ve just gotta get it out of my system, that’s all,” Sanji whispers with conviction at his reflection one morning in the bathroom. 

Except, no matter how many times he dreams about, jerks off to, or comes to the image of Zoro with that fucking nipple piercing, Sanji just can’t stop thinking about it. 

* * *

“NO,” Nami screams. 

“Absolutely not, put that thing away, holy jesus,” Usopp shrieks.

“I hate  _ all of you,”  _ Zoro whispers, in agony. 

Luffy cackles louder than all of them. Brook seems to be being violently murdered. 

“Oh  _ dear, _ ” Robin says. 

Chopper is mid rant about unsafe medical practices when Sanji walks into the gallery. 

Franky is shirtless. This is not new. 

What is new, however, is the  _ very large  _ ring-piercing protruding from his newly installed right nipple. On the ring dangles an obscenely large, metal rendering of the Strawhat Pirate insignia, complete with crossbones and all. It must be the size of a human fist. 

Sanji quickly comes to three conclusions. 

The first of which being Franky is a goddamn sadist. The second of which is that he most definitely does not have a piercing-kink in general. This is definitely a Zoro-shaped problem and most definitely not a Franky associated  _ anything.  _ The final conclusion is that he is going to literally vomit. 

* * *

Despite Luffy being strangely enamored by Franky’s dedication to the beloved symbol of his crew, a ban is unanimously passed on any piercings every again. Zoro makes Franky sign a contract (drawn up by Nami) in his own blood. Franky cries when Robin removes the piercing (and the hideous, not-humanoid-enough nipples he had installed alongside them.) He sulks the rest of the night. 

Everyone else is visibly relieved. 

(Usopp and Brook are swiftly treated by a fretting Doctor Chopper after passing out from laughing too hard.)

* * *

Sanji’s problem does not go away, despite recently acquired piercing related traumas of the Franky shaped variety. In fact, as the newness of the revelation fades away and the rest of the crew starts to move on, Sanji’s problem gets even worse. As the shock value wears off, Zoro seems to get more comfortable wandering around the Sunny completely, unabashedly, _ ridiculously  _ shirtless. 

When he comes down from the crow’s nest, he doesn’t bother to sling a dirty tee or a tank top on like he used to. Instead, Zoro just… walks around on deck without a shirt. Like it’s no big deal or anything. 

At first, Usopp still giggled to himself whenever Zoro happened to (shirtlessly) pass by. After the first couple of times Usopp got caught doing so, he learned very, very quickly to stop. He flees from Zoro in mortal terror whenever he sees him coming. Luffy thinks it’s hilarious. 

He found it especially delightful when, startled by Zoro (shirtless) rounding a corner, Usopp lunged to his feet so fast that he tripped over himself and came down on the floor, right underneath Zoro’s feet. Sweating profusely, Usopp cried, “Uh, that was part of my new performative and interactive Usopp experience titled “Tragedy and Inconvenience on the Sea!’, you’re welcome for including… you?” 

Zoro leveled him with a glare that could curdle milk. “If you don’t move, the real tragedy is gonna be what I do to you.” 

Needless to say, Usopp has been suitably cowed into submission. 

But Zoro is  _ not cowed.  _ He continues to traipse around the ship, shirtless (and, holy mother of fuck,  _ glistening _ ) which has presented Sanji with a very particular set of difficulties. Difficulties of the persistent, raging erection varieties. But Sanji isn't _gay _and Sanji does not sleep with men (_at least, not anymore) _so there is quite clearly nothing to be done about this particular set of difficulties besides tough it out. So he does. 

* * *

And then the crew makes it to Sabaody. 

(And it takes everyone an awful long time to make it back.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can do this," Sanji swears to himself viciously. And, well, then he sees him. 
> 
> Sanji bites clean through his cigarette. Zoro stops a few feet from him. 
> 
> “You’re taller,” Zoro says, his single eye is discerning. 
> 
> "I'm wearing heels," Sanji says, like a complete and utter idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOAH, this took longer than I intended. Thank you all for your wonderful comments! Please enjoy. 
> 
> Anyways, I head cannon Sanji as gender fluid/nonbinary and that's how it's gonna be.

The Kamabaka kingdom taught Sanji a handful of things. Some of these things were not exclusively related to improving his skills as a fighter and as a cook. Some of these things were about himself, as loathe as he is to admit that, even in the privacy of his own mind. 

He’s leaving soon. In about two days time he’ll set sail to Saobody for the rendezvous. But not now. No, not now. 

Now is just for him. 

The leggings are smooth and sheer as he glides them up his legs. He starts at the ankle, tugging them up the calf, and past the knee, letting the black nylon material rest at about mid thigh. His nails are silver, today. The metallic sheen of them catches the lamplight. (For all the meticulous care he has always taken with his hands, he doesn’t know how he could have possibly missed  _ this,  _ the smooth glide of polish, the scent of acetone, the shimmer of gloss… This is one of the things Sanji has learned—nailpolish can be just as alluring on women as it is on  _ himself. _ ) 

His dress tonight is dark blue, almost black, halting just before his leggings begin. His simple black corset shrinks his waist before his eyes. It somehow flares his hips out impossibly wider, creating the illusion of curves, drawing the eye, holding it there, impossibly seductive. It has flowing sleeves, hiding the lethal muscles of his arms beneath flowing layers of blue, black, and glinting silver fabric, like moonlight reflecting off the impossibly dark water of the ocean. 

Sanji looks in the mirror. His visible eye is painted with dark, winged eyeliner. Silvery shadow is artfully smudged in the corners of his eye and along the curve of his eyelid. It makes his complexion stand out like Zoro’s hair does in a crowd. Sanji picks up a brown makeup pencil. He carefully dots a few freckles here and there on the peak of his cheekbones to interrupt the pale landscape of his unblemished, freshly shaved face. When Sanji is finally done, freckles added, eyeshadow perfected, lips glossy and plump under a shade of simple dusky pink, something primal and unacknowledged that lives deep down inside of him purrs with contentment from somewhere within his chest. 

Sanji cocks his hip out just a little, arches his back just a little bit further, feels himself settle into the black, kitten-strap heels that he has come to wield like daggers in a fight. The woman that stares back at him is tall. She's composed of miles and miles of leg, with hips perfect for holding onto, a broad and flat chest, delicate wrists, long, elegant fingers, and a face that drips seduction. 

Sanji lights a cigarette. It feels powerful to hold it between his long fingers like this. 

_ Fuck,  _ he thinks, suddenly, brutally overcome with emotion,  _ I’m going to fucking miss this.  _

* * *

“The way I see it, Candy Boy,” Ivan said, looking at Sanji like something the cat dragged in, “Kuma must have sent you here for a reason.” 

“What’s your point?” Sanji had spat in return, looking, of all things, like a rabid animal, ready to charge. Ivankov had pulled Sanji out of a fight that had started when some of the “girls” had tried to force him into a truly hideous dress. Sanji can feel his newly acquired black eye swelling as Ivan speaks, chastising him like he’s a particularly disobedient puppy. It makes him fucking sick. 

“My point, Candy Boy, is that Kuma saw something in you that would benefit from this place.” Ivan raises one carefully sculpted eye brow. “Maybe you ought to do some soul searching, hm?” 

* * *

Sanji knows he can’t take this part of himself back onto the deck of the Thousand Sunny. He  _ knows  _ it, but it still fucking  _ sucks,  _ he thinks, glaring down at his collection all spread out along the bed he’ll soon be leaving behind, along with the rest of the godforsaken Kamabaka kingdom. 

Dresses, skirts, corsets, padded bras, lacy bralettes, panties, thongs, leggings, stockings, garters, and heels in all shapes and sizes stare up at him from the bed. 

“One bag,” Sanji mumbles to himself, smoking his third cigarette in a row. “I promised myself. One bag.” The aforementioned nondescript black duffel bag lays empty at his feet. He stares down at the bed, willing the answers to be there. 

So, here’s the thing, he didn’t  _ actually  _ sleep with any of the okama. 

Well, fine, he didn’t sleep with  _ that many of them. _

Just… the more feminine looking ones. A handful of times. 

( _ A big, warm hand cradling the back of his head, pinched around his neck while he gags around a mouthful of cock, thinking it’s filthy, this is so fucking filthy, and I love it so much, never let it stop—)  _

Sanji lights another cigarette. The pack is almost empty. The duffel bag is still empty. 

He knows, he fucking  _ knows  _ that this part of him does not belong on the Strawhat ship. God, just the thought of it and he wants to combust on the spot.  _ (Dirty, shameful, wrong, _ a voice in his head croons, sounding giddy at the prospect.  _ They’d never let you sleep in the men’s quarters anymore if they knew. Think Luffy would want a queer on his ship? Think Usopp would be comfortable sharing a bunk space with you? Think Zoro would still spar with you if he knew how fucking depraved you are?) _

“Shut up,” he murmurs to himself. 

Still, the dresses he’s staring down at don’t have the answers. 

Sanji would rather die than have the crew find out about his… proclivities. Hell, he’s only recently come to terms with it himself. The thought of anyone else outside this small, stupid island knowing something so achingly shameful about him is absolutely fucking sickening. But he  _ just can’t let it go.  _ Now that he’s tasted it, the freedom that comes with accepting the kind of  _ demons  _ he has, he can’t just go back to how it was before. He can’t go back to never feeling the softness of his own freshly shaved legs. He can’t walk past a women’s lingerie store and ignore how sinfully  _ spectacular  _ it feels to slide a pair of lace and satin panties over his hips. He can’t, can’t, can’t  _ go back.  _

That first night he had tried it, he saw a freak in the mirror. He looked at himself in the mirror, trounced up in a frilly pink dress and a simple pair of panties and the bubble-gum sweet smack of cherry lipstick across his mouth, and he saw a fucking  _ freak.  _

(And yet, he had  _ loved _ it.)

He had cried like a child. He had cried like he hadn’t cried since that day on the Baratie where he chose to risk it all for a dream and follow a stupid kid in a straw hat. One of the girls, a short and stocky man with arms as strong as iron, had wordlessly taken him into his arms. 

“We know, Sanji-chan,” he had said as a somber mood had descended upon the whole (impossibly crowded) room. His arms were warm and held him tight. He smelled like lavender and roses. Another girl had put his hand on his shoulder in an instant and someone else was agreeing with a sage, “Amen,” in the background. 

They had comforted him while he fell apart. He cried until he couldn’t anymore, grieving for the loss of his ability to live in denial any longer. He grieved for the person he had pretended to be for so long. 

He kind of wants to cry now. But he doesn’t. 

He fills the bottom of the bag, choosing his favorite pieces. A couple pairs of shoes follow. On top, he adds the rest of his every-day clothes, hiding the pretty things underneath button ups and slacks. 

(He pretends his hands don’t shake as he zips the bag.)

* * *

As he approaches Saobody, Sanji adopts a mantra.  _ I can do this,  _ he tells himself.  _ No one ever has to know,  _ he says.  _ I can keep this under wraps.  _ He thinks of seeing the crew, of being surrounded by Luffy’s boundless joy once again, joking with Usopp, catering to Nami, sharing tea with Robin, of cuddling with Chopper, listening to Brook and Franky play their respective instruments, of sparring with Zoro…

Zoro… 

_ I can do this.  _ Sanji takes a deep breath.  _ No one ever has to know, I can keep this under wraps.  _

_ Fuck,  _ he thinks bitterly,  _ story of my life.  _

* * *

A ship flies out of the water. The chaos is loud,  _ really loud...  _ people are screaming, waves crash against the shore, the ship flying out of the ocean is crumbling, but all Sanji can hear is his own heartbeat. A traitorous part of himself whispers  _ he’s going to know. Zoro is going to look at you and know, just like any of them will look at you and know.  _ The thought makes his stomach cramp with nerves. 

Under his suit, he is wearing a white lace bralette and matching panties. He must have checked a million times, just to be one hundred percent sure that no one could tell he was wearing  _ women’s underwear (goddammit, he’s such a freak)  _ underneath his usual clothes. He doesn’t think anyone can tell. He can’t tell. The okama reassured him about a million times that they couldn’t tell. So, he allowed himself that small comfort. The gentle whisper of the satin and lace against his chest is a balm to his nerves. 

He is insanely grateful for the comfort, he realizes in this moment, as he catches a hint of green hair among the plummeting wreckage.  _ He’s gonna know,  _ the voice hisses. Sanji imagines himself stomping it into the ground. 

_ I can do this,  _ Sanji swears to himself viciously. 

Then he sees him. 

_ Oh.  _

Oh  _ shit.  _

Sanji bites clean through his cigarette.  _ I can do this.  _ Zoro stops a few feet from him. 

“You’re taller,” Zoro says, his single eye is discerning. 

_ You’re broader. You’re more muscled. You’re hotter, you’re so much hotter—how? You’re missing an eye and you’re still infuriatingly hot and your coat is OPEN, where the fuck is your shirt and—fuck. Fucking fuck, I can see the piercing now. Fuck. You’re evil. You’re so evil. The All-Blue is not worth this.  _ The inside of his head is a rush of agonized screaming and of arousal.  _ Be NORMAL,  _ the voice in his head screams at him. 

“I’m wearing heels,” Sanji says. Zoro’s eye goes wide. “UM—” Sanji inhales the chomped-off bit of the cigarette that’s still in his mouth. He promptly doubles over, choking on ash and his  _ shame, his insurmountable shame  _ and  _ fuck.  _

They’re subtle, is the thing. They’re really so subtle, Sanji had thought. He just couldn’t part from them, in all honesty. He had gotten used to being two or three or even four or five inches taller. He got used to the ache in the arches of his feet after a long day, to the  _ click-clack  _ of his shoes when he moved. He got used to the way they made him feel. He thought he could explain it away as a quirk of his training—there’s nothing like getting roundhoused with a two-inch block heel to crack an opponent’s sternum—and they’re pretty nondescript anyways. They’re solid black with only a little bit more of a point at the toe than he used to wear. And, with a (subtle, _so subtle_) two inch chunky-heel lined with steel at the edges. It was a custom job. 

The point was, no one had to fucking  _ know.  _ In his mind, a cooler version of himself responds to Zoro, _“Yeah, guess I am taller. Or maybe you’re just shorter, Marimo.”_ But he didn’t say that. He said _the worst_ possible thing. 

He finishes coughing up a lung. He knows his face is red, knows he looks like a fucking  _ tool  _ and knows that Zoro is still staring at him. So, Sanji does the only thing he can do. He aims a kick for Zoro’s stupid  _ infuriatinlgy hot  _ face. 

Zoro raises a single sword to block the effort.  _ He’s stronger,  _ Sanji notes, fascinated by the effort he has to exert against the dull edge of the blade. He flexes his leg, pivots, strikes again with double the force. Zoro blocks again, has to shift into a wider stance to accommodate the weight of Sanji’s leg, straining against the sword and— 

The two sides of Zoro’s coat part around the flex of his chest muscles and there, right there, is not one, but  _ two piercings.  _

Zoro has not just one, but_ two_ nipple piercings. 

They break from the strike and Sanji would never admit to breathing as hard as he is right now because  _ what the fuck.  _ _How is it that two years can pass_, he thinks to himself hysterically, and he _still can’t get over the fucking piercings_? Sanji was so sure the excitement would have worn off, that the novelty of a man like Zoro having jewelry through his nipple—correction,  _ nipples,  _ plural now, goddammit—would have run its course. 

“What, shit-cook?” Sanji tries desperately to compose himself, cursing his luck all the while, when something catches his eye… 

“What’s in your  _ mouth,  _ shit-for-brains?” Zoro takes a swift step back, closes his mouth with a snap.  _ Oookay.  _ Fuck him, Sanji thinks. (The less he knows or notices about the idiot, the better for his sanity.) “Whatever. Let’s go back to the Sunny. Stick with me, you’ll just get lost.” 

Zoro grunts in response, but follows anyways. 

* * *

The crew reunites. The Sunny sails on. 

Sanji keeps his secret carefully hidden, carefully locked away. He wears his heels and no one bats an eye after the first time they see him use them in battle. Surprisingly, things are good. 

Sometimes, when they dock, Sanji gathers his things and sneaks away. He rents a room at whatever shithole inn he can find and he takes his careful time applying his makeup, shaving his legs, slipping into something sinful and gorgeous. 

(And, for a moment, the terror of being discovered for what he is abates.) 

* * *

Sanji thinks he’s going crazy. He’s finally losing his goddamn sanity and it’s all Zoro’s fault. If it wasn’t enough to be the hottest fucking thing to ever grace the face of the Earth _and_ be perpetually fucking oblivious to it, he’s figured out a way to drive Sanji even crazier. Sometimes, in rare quiet moments on the ship, or even when sparring, Sanji can hear a faint clicking sound coming from Zoro. 

“Stop that,” he growls, glaring at Zoro where he’s resting against the rails of the ship, eyes closed but still awake. Sanji came out to hand the wonderful girls the drinks he had slaved over, only to hear the fucking  _ sound,  _ coming right from Zoro himself. 

Zoro opens his eye. “Tch.” He continues making the sound. 

He makes it on deck, he makes it in the men’s cabin, he makes it in towns they dock at and even in the kitchen. 

_ And Sanji can’t figure out how the fuck he’s doing it.  _

* * *

It happens when he’s preparing breakfast one early morning, before the sun has risen. Sanji’s enjoying a leisurely cigarette and a cup of coffee while carefully taking inventory when he hears the unmistakable squeak of the door creaking open. 

Sanji expects to see Brook or even Robin, coming into the kitchen in the early morning light for some tea or coffee. The kettle is already on the stove. But, as he turns to offer a cup of tea or coffee to whoever has joined him, Sanji does not find Brook or Robin. Instead, Sanji sees Zoro. 

Sanji forgot that Zoro had watch last night. Someone must have just relieved him of his post. Sanji goes to turn around, content to ignore the bastard, when Zoro lifts his arms, stretches his whole body out tight, and yawns, dropping his entire mouth open with such force that his jaw creaks. 

That's when Sanji sees it. Right there, nestled in the middle of Zoro’s mouth, sits a simple gold piercing running straight through the middle of Zoro’s tongue. 

Sanji freezes. 

Zoro’s arms fall back to his sides. He rubs at his eye absently and then comes the  _ sound.  _ The clicking. 

Zoro is playing with his tongue piercing. Zoro is  _ clicking his tongue piercing against his teeth.  _

On the stove, the kettle screams. It perfectly echoes the voice in Sanji’s head. 

Zoro notices him staring. “What?” he grumbles, eyeing Sanji with suspicion. 

“Your…” Sanji is suddenly so aroused it hurts to  _ breathe.  _ His cock throbs in time with his thundering heartbeat. Zoro absently scratches at his pec while eyeing Sanji with suspicion. He hooks his index finger through the ring on his right nipple, tugs a bit. It's like Zoro doesn't even notice he's doing it. Sanji's mouth goes bone dry. He wants to put his _mouth _on those.

“What, cook?” 

Sanji turns around, quickly, just as blood starts to drip out of his nose. “Fuck, fucking, shit fuck, stupid fucking son of a whore,” he curses, frantically searching for a dishtowel while simultaneously hiding both his spouting nose and raging erection from Zoro. He’s so hard he could shatter diamonds and he can’t stop thinking about Zoro’s tongue, and how it would feel sliding hot and wet and  _ oh so right  _ around his cock, the velvet heat of his mouth contrasted by the cool metal catching around the head and— _ hnnnnn.  _

_ Get a grip, Sanji! Get a fucking grip!  _

“Cook,” Zoro says, concern heavy in his voice. He’s close, Sanji notes with abject terror, and turns around to find Zoro scant steps away from him, head cocked to the side like a puppy in confusion. 

“Get the fuck away, I’m fine,” Sanji snaps, turning to remove the hissing kettle from the heat of the stove. Zoro steps closer as Sanji sets the kettle down. “Back off, marimo, I’m fine!” Zoro is close enough that Sanji can  _ smell him _ and  _ oh, this is bad, bad, bad— _ Zoro’s eye is narrowed in equal parts confusion and determination and he’s only coming closer, backing Sanji up against the counter—trapping him…

“I said back off!” Sanji shouts with desperation, planting his hands on either side of Zoro’s chest and pushing back,  _ hard.  _ Zoro stumbles but his reflexes are quick. In a flat second, Sanji’s wrists are locked tight in Zoro’s hands and Zoro is stalking forward like a fucking predator, his expression angry and coiled, backing Sanji up, up, up against the counter, till he’s bending uncomfortably trying to keep his dick away from Zoro’s hip but he’s making it impossible, coming in like that with no space between them and oh, god,  _ oh— _

“Oh,” Zoro breathes out on an exhale. 

He’s got Sanji pressed to his front, despite Sanji’s best efforts to lean back and as far away as possible. Sanji’s wrists are still held iron tight between his hands and pinned flush against his own chest. Zoro’s wider frame has him boxed in, trapped against the kitchen counter so tightly that Sanji can feel the edge of the tabletop digging into his spine and the heat of Zoro’s skin through his clothes. Sanji’s breathing like he’s just run a marathon. There’s got to be a smear of blood under his nose. His face is undoubtedly red and flushed and, between them… 

Sanji’s stiff-as-granite prick is pressed urgently against Zoro’s abdomen. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. 

Try as he might, Sanji can’t look away. His eyes are fixed like glue to Zoro’s own gaze. He can’t look away, can’t even _breathe_ because he needs to see the moment, needs to make himself  _ see the moment  _ that Zoro understands how fucked up he is, how perverse and  _ wrong  _ and, well, shit... the only way it could be worse is if Zoro caught him in a  _ dress.  _

But the disgust doesn’t come. 

Zoro hums and shifts impossibly closer. “That’s… new?” he remarks, but it comes out a question and Sanji can’t catch a break, can’t fucking  _ think with Zoro moving like that and— _

“H- _ haahhh!”  _ Sanji’s traitorous hips buck into the friction of Zoro sliding his impossibly tight abdomen against the unmistakable hardness of his cock. His whole body twitches, one huge heave of uncontrollable movement and  _ please, please, please let it be over  _ but then… Zoro grinds down. Hard. Sanji throws his head back, his skull cracking against the upper cabinets of the kitchen. He can’t hear the sound over the obscene moan that claws its way out of his throat. 

‘“Hmm,” Zoro half grunts, half moans and  _ oh fuck  _ does it again and Sanji is  _ lost.  _ His chest is heaving so hard he thinks he’s going to have a heart attack and he can’t breathe through the rushing, throbbing demand of his arousal, let alone think… “Cook,” Zoro starts to speak, closes his mouth. 

The piercing clicks against his teeth. 

Sanji’s eyes slam closed, he can’t look, can’t  _ look  _ anymore, squirms in the impossibly tight hold the other man has on him, willing his limbs to reform into muscle where they’ve turned into jelly under the force of his arousal, but squirming just rubs his cock against Zoro  _ that much more  _ and— 

Zoro grunts when Sanji’s thigh shifts, and Sanji’s eyes fly open at the sound and, and… 

“...Zoro?” 

It happens in a rush of air. Suddenly, his wrists are free and Zoro’s hands are tight like a vice around his hips, lifting Sanji up onto the counter like it’s  _ nothing,  _ like he weighs  _ nothing,  _ manhandling him like an  _ animal  _ and stepping into the open vee of Sanji’s spread legs and leaning down, down, down to press his own groin hot and tight against Sanji’s prick. All at once he’s grinding down as fluid as a wave, ripping a high, needy whine from deep, deep in Sanji’s chest and  _ oh it’s so good, so, so good… _

_ “ _ Cook,” Zoro growls and the sound is subsonic, vibrating down to the marrow of Sanji’s bones and he’s helpless to stop this, helpless to do anything but twist his hands in the back of Zoro’s shirt and tug him closer. Sanji thrusts up and grinds down with everything he’s got. Zoro’s head drops to Sanji’s shoulder with a dull  _ thunk  _ and his  _ mouth  _ is on the exposed skin of Sanji’s collarbone, wet and hot and insistent, panting just as hard as he is. 

“Oh, fuck,” Sanji whsipers, reverent, losing himself in the push-and-drag of their cocks together. Even through both their pants its intoxicating. Zoro latches his mouth onto Sanji's collarbone and _sucks. _Then, something shockingly smooth and warm and metal slides hot and wet up from Sanji’s collarbone to his neck—it’s the  _ piercing,  _ his brain shrieks—and before Sanji has time to process that, deal with the impossibly arousing weight of it, Zoro is gone. “H-huh—” 

“Stand up,  _ stand up,”  _ Zoro hisses, hands groping uselessly at the button of Sanji’s trousers. Just as Sanji gathers himself and slips off of the counter, Zoro tugs his pants apart, sliding the zipper down and  _ fuck—  _

Ice floods Sanji’s veins in an instant as he scrambles desperately to remember what he put on this morning because if it’s  _ panties,  _ oh god if it’s  _ panties  _ this is all over, oh  _ hell…  _ But he’s wearing plain black briefs, perfectly _normal_, perfectly masculine, and before he has time to feel relieved, Zoro slides to his knees and sucks down Sanji’s aching cock in one swift movement. 

“Zoro!” Sanji shouts and slaps a hand over his mouth to keep from  _ screaming.  _

It’s too much, it’s  _ so much,  _ the heat and the slick and the  _ suction  _ of his mouth bobbing up and down furiously over his cock, like Zoro’s just  _ gagging for it,  _ just desperate as can be and... then Sanji feels it. He feels the flick of the little metal ball against his frenulum and Sanji’s world goes white with pleasure. 

Zoro swallows. 

He doesn’t get up off his knees and Sanji is suddenly terrified,  _ mortified  _ until Zoro grunts once, like the sound was kicked out of him. He notices then that Zoro’s fist is in his pants, jerking himself through his own orgasm, still on the floor, lips cherry red from  _ Sanji’s cock,  _ his one eye shut tight in  _ agony  _ and ecstasy at the same time. Sanji’s cock gives one valiant jerk where it hangs out of his pants, slowly going limp. 

“Oh shit,” Sanji whispers. He lets himself slide to the floor, back still against the counter. His ass hits the floor and suddenly he’s facing Zoro, looking the damn Marimo in the eye and Zoro…  _ smirks.  _

“If I had known what that all that staring and nagging was about earlier,” Zoro remarks, laughing through the rest of whatever he was going to say. 

“S-shut up,” Sanji kicks him lightly on the side. Zoro sighs, content, and rests his huge, hot hand on Sanji’s thigh. Sanji can’t fucking help himself, he shivers under the touch, still sensitive and  _ absolutely reeling.  _

_ Zoro just blew me,  _ he thinks hysterically.  _ Zoro blew me and then he came because it turned him on to blow me.  _

“Never thought you swung that way, Cook,” Zoro’s thumb makes small, leisurely circles on Sanji’s thigh. 

“I-... Shut up, shithead. I don’t  _ swing that way,  _ I  _ don’t,  _ I just—” couldn’t help it? It was a one time thing? It’ll never happen again? 

Zoro laughs while Sanji’s voice fails him— _ there must be someway I can fix this, someway he doesn’t think I’m a…  _ But all the thoughts are frozen like molasses in his brain, sticky and tangled and unsortable. 

“Sure you don’t, shit-cook,” he says, but Zoro doesn't sound  _ disgusted  _ and besides, Zoro  _ sucked Sanji off,  _ not the other way around, so he can’t hate him  _ that much,  _ right? “Hey, stop that,” Zoro says, admonishing, and removes Sanji’s hand from his hair, where he had started tugging. Zoro must see the panic in his eyes because his expression changes from languid enjoyment of the afterglow to concern. Sanji needs to  _ go, get up, go, run.  _

The door to the kitchen creaks open. 

A slow boil of panic rolls in his stomach. 

“ _ Shit,”  _ Sanji whispers, furiously, fumbling to get his dick back in his pants and jetting to his feet, heart rabbiting like a death toll in his ears. 

“Cook,” Zoro whispers, wiping his semen-covered hand on his own pants, still crouched on the floor, hiding from view. “ _ Sanji,”  _ he hisses and  _ oh, isn’t  _ that  _ a novelty?  _

But Sanji doesn’t have time to think about the sound of his name in Zoro’s voice, he has a crew to feed. 

* * *

As soon as breakfast is over, Sanji hides. 

* * *

After chain smoking an entire pack straight down to the filter, Sanji finally gathers himself and heads back into the kitchen. Zoro is sitting on the countertop, waiting. Neither of them say a word. 

Zoro’s tongue piercing clicks. 

“Can you stop that already?” Sanji bites out, rolling up his sleeves and starting the water in the sink. _Someone _has to do the dishes, crisis aside. 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s fucking  _ distracting  _ as shit!” 

“Because it turns you on? Now that you know what it is?” 

Sanji goes beat red from the tips of his ears down to his chest. He refuses to look at Zoro. He hears the unmistakable sound of fabric shifting as Zoro slides off the counter and comes to stand behind him. A hand touches Sanji’s hip. Its grip is possessive. 

“I don’t care if you like women, or if you like both, or if you lie about liking women and like men instead,” Sanji splutters indignantly. “Doesn’t matter,” Zoro adds. This close, Sanji can hear Zoro’s earrings chime together when he leans closer to say, quiet as a mouse, but not in a whisper, “Because I liked it.” Sanji’s breath escapes him in a shuddering exhale. The tips of his toes are tingling. “Cook, I want to have sex with you.” 

The room is suddenly so quiet. 

“What about you?” Sanji asks. 

“Hm?” 

“Do you like both or…” 

“No,” Zoro says, as emotive as ever, which is to say, not at all. “I just like men.” 

Sanji swallows. “Are you…?”

“Gay?” At the mere utterance of the word, Sanji tenses all over. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“You guess?” 

Zoro probably shrugs but Sanji doesn’t know because he still refuses to look. 

“Okay,” Sanji says after a moment. “Let’s have sex, then.”

_ Just don't fuck this up, _ that voice in Sanji's head says. 

Sanji swallows it down. 

He's got this. He's totally in control. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know that feeling when you jump into a really cold body of water and the cold comes on so fast that you go from pleasantly warm to objectively freezing in two seconds flat?
> 
> Sanji’s skin has turned to ice. His blood has stopped flowing. Panic may be a steady boil... but terror? Terror is fucking frostbite. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have extended the total chapter number to four instead of three because this chapter was getting really, really long... I decided to split up the last two parts. Thanks for all the comments and kudos!

They don’t have sex that night. Hell, they don’t even have sex the next day. In fact, it’s three days exactly until either of them mention that morning in the kitchen again. 

It starts because of Luffy, as most things do. 

The thing is, Luffy and Zoro have always been close. Like, weirdly close. They’ve known each other the longest, which makes sense, but the freaky way that they effortlessly manage to read each others’ minds about everything is… disconcerting. On top of that, Zoro seems to have no sense of personal space when it comes to Luffy. Even when it comes to snuggles from Chopper, Zoro has some limits to what he’s willing to tolerate. But with Luffy? It’s like Zoro just can’t say no. They have this level of casual intimacy that leaves Sanji with an unsettled feeling on the best of days. So what if Zoro is usually the one to accompany Luffy to the bath to make sure the rubber idiot doesn’t drown? So what if Zoro lets Luffy nap on his shoulder a few days a week? So what if Luffy is allowed to  _ touch?  _

Sanji’s not jealous. 

He’s  _ not.  _

So, when Sanji comes out onto the deck for a smoke after cleaning up that day’s lunch and sees Luffy draped over Zoro’s back, head drowsily lolling over Zoro’s shoulder while one of his rubbery hands snakes around to tug on one of Zoro’s nipple rings… Sanji  _ doesn’t  _ freak out. He has a completely proportionate reaction. 

His feet burst into flames where he stands, charring the grass on the Sunny. 

“Cook-bro!” Franky admonishes, but Sanji can barely hear him. 

Zoro swats Luffy’s hand away like the captain is a pesky fly. He looks mad but resigned at the same time. Sanji’s blood boils. Luffy giggles when he tries to do it again and Zoro unceremoniously dumps him flat onto his back without a moment's hesitation. 

“Aw, Zoro, mean,” Luffy whines. 

Sanji turns on his (flaming) heel and stalks right back into the cabin. 

* * *

He’s not jealous. He’s  _ not.  _

* * *

“Uh, Sanji? You’re kind of… on fire,” Usopp helpfully comments, glancing up from whatever it is he’s tinkering with on the sofa. 

“Yeah, I got that. Thanks,” Sanji snips back, pacing and leaving grooves in the floor as he goes. 

“Zoro again?” Usopp asks. 

“What about the marimo?” 

Usopp looks at him like he’s the fucking stupid one, here. “Uh, you’ve just been. Ya know. Irritable around him the past few days, is all…”

“No.” Sanji feels a headache coming. “No, I haven’t.” 

“You kinda have, though…” Sanji shoots him a glare that could melt ice. Usopp laughs nervously. “Haha—ah, what I meant to say was that… you seem extra… uh, pent up… lately?” 

“I seem  _ what. _ ” Sanji can’t hardly ever remember being this fucking pissed before. 

“Nothing, nothing, forget I said anything at  _ all, _ ” Usopp begs, leaping to his feet and scrambling out of the men’s cabin like he’s getting paid to vacate the space. 

_ I’m not jealous,  _ Sanji thinks, scathingly.  _ I’m not.  _

Before he fully flees the scene, Usopp pauses in the doorway. He swallows hard. “Ya know, Sanji, if there’s something you had to tell us… the crew, I mean… you know we wouldn’t judge you no matter what, right?” For all that Usopp is a coward, he has become so brave over the past two years. Before the shock sets in, Sanji feels proud of him. Usopp would have never been brave enough to say something like this to him before. 

Before Sanji can process or reply, Usopp is gone. 

“They know,” Sanji whispers to no one but himself. 

(His hands  _ do not shake  _ when he lites a cigarette.)

* * *

“Are you jealous of Luffy?” Zoro corners him in the kitchen to ask after dinner. Sanji drops a plate and has to scramble to catch it before it shatters into a thousand fucking pieces, like his goddamn composure.  _ Everyone on this ship is intolerable,  _ he decides. 

“Get lost, shrub head.” 

Zoro’s leaning against the counter beside Sanji, watching him with a keen eye. “I didn’t forget about what I said, Cook.” 

“No? I sure have,” Sanji practically hisses at him.  _ No you haven’t,  _ that evil voice in his head chimes in.  _ You’ve jacked off to it for the past three days and dreamed about it every night, that’s hardly “forgetting it”.  _

“Uh huh,” Zoro says, very pointedly not moving at all. 

“I said get  _ lost, _ ” he turns to yell but Zoro’s face is just… well, it’s just right  _ there  _ and, ah. Fuck it. Sanji touches his face. Turns it this way and that. Zoro’s mouth parts as if he’s going to say something and remains that way. Sanji gulps. Slides his thumb across Zoro’s bottom lip, presses slowly into his mouth. Zoro’s one eye goes foggy (the dilation of his pupil hits Sanji like a punch to the gut) and he tips his head, allowing Sanji to slip his finger in, pressing down on the metal ball lodged in the middle of Zoro’s tongue. 

While maintaining eye contact, Zoro slowly closes his lips around Sanji’s thumb. He sucks. 

“Shit,” Sanji whispers. 

Zoro smiles like he does on the battlefield, all teeth and bloodlust and the name of terror itself. It has no right to be as attractive as it is. 

* * *

They meet in the men’s bunk room later that night, while the rest of the crew is up on deck watching Franky and Brook perform a duet. At the rate the two were going—( _ It’s our suuuuuuper six-part adventure ballad! _ )—they had some time. But, by the way Zoro grabs Sanji by the hips as soon as they’re through the door and starts manhandling him around, you’d think they had no time at all. 

They collapse on top of the couch, Zoro maneuvering Sanji into his lap, and get each other off with sweaty palms, too pent up for anything else. 

Sanji slides to the floor between Zoro’s splayed legs and finally— _ blessedly,  _ gets his hands on those fucking piercings. He hooks a finger through the first nipple piercing, the one that started it all so many months ago ( _ over two years now, fuck)  _ and  _ pulls.  _ Zoro’s hips shudder up, bumping into nothing, chasing a friction that isn’t there. He grumbles low in his throat. 

“Fuck,” Sanji whispers before he closes his mouth around the other shiny gold piercing. He closes his lips tight around it, feels the cool contrast of the metal through scalding hot flesh, and  _ sucks _ . 

The sound Zoro makes can only be described as a growl. 

Sanji is nearly the hardest he’s ever been by the time they get their hands on each other. He comes straddling Zoro’s lap, Zoro’s hand clenched tight around his leaking cock, his lips teasing his earrings, Zoro’s beautiful ( _ huge, fuck…)  _ dick in his free hand. He paints Zoro’s chest with his come and just barely has the wherewithal to return the favor, giving the other man a few skillful twists of his wrist before Zoro follows, tumbling into an orgasm that he rides out with a throaty moan. 

* * *

Laying together afterwards, sticky with sweat and reeking like sex, Zoro clasps Sanji’s face between his hands and brings their lips together in a bruising kiss. 

(It’s the best kiss Sanji has ever had.)

He laughs into it, boneless, sated, and content. 

* * *

Sanji absolutely  _ cannot afford _ to fuck this up. Not only is the sex actually fucking amazing (the best of his life, no doubt) he might actually start to be developing… feelings for the bastard. Not that he would admit that, even under pain of death. But the fact is, he’s goddamn  _ enjoying  _ himself. The sneaking around and the accompanying stress of that aside, fooling around with Zoro is… it’s good. The casual intimacy with Zoro? It’s  _ good.  _

(The kitchen will empty after a meal, yet Zoro will linger. He’ll stay until everyone else has cleared out, just so he can brush a smoldering kiss against Sanji’s lips. It makes him shiver all over, from head to toe. They’ll switch off on a watch shift and Sanji will bring him a special drink or snack, something only for Zoro, and he’ll give him one of those secret, warm smiles that’s all simple affection and no posturing or pretending at all.)

Things are  _ good.  _

And Sanji’s gotta keep it that way. 

(If Zoro, god, if anyone were to find out what Sanji  _ is _ , everything would be over.) 

He can’t afford to lose what he’s only just got. 

* * *

They dock at a small yet bustling port town. It reminds Sanji a little of Water 7 but without the sheer sprawl and majesty. The crew splits up once they arrive. Franky and Brook offer to stay back and watch the Sunny. (“We’re working on the sequel to our _ suuuuuuper  _ adventure ballad!” _ )  _ Zoro, Luffy, Chopper and Nami head out to explore (“If I don’t come with you three,” Nami had growled, “we will probably be chased off this island by a goddamn mob. Just one peaceful trip into town, is that too much to ask?”) while Robin had approached Sanji and specifically asked if she could accompany him to the town’s market. 

“I’m interested in exploring what this island has to offer,” his beloved archaeologist had explained, donning a wide-brimmed hat to protect against the glare of the sun on the Spring island. 

“Of course, mellorine! I’d be delighted to have your company!” But, in addition, Sanji had a  _ plan.  _ “Usopp!” Sanji calls out, halting him in his tracks where he was following after Luffy and Chopper. 

“Y-yeah?” 

“You’re coming with us,” Sanji says. 

“But—” 

“You’re coming,” Sanji enunciates clearly and forcefully, “with us.” 

As much as Sanji would relish some quality time with Robin, he’s gotta find out exactly what Usopp  _ thinks _ he knows. 

* * *

Robin ducks into a bookstore off of the main drag of the town’s marketplace, leaving Sanji and a nervous, jittery Usopp to their devices. Just as Sanji’s trying to figure out a way to bring this up— _ so, Usopp, how did you find out that I’m a freak? _ —-Sanji sees it. In the window of a little boutique is a beautiful sheer robe. It’s a thin and made out of nearly translucent fabric, dark blue with abstract sweeps of color, almost like flower petals streaked across the surface. It has wide, flowing half-sleeves and a certain, undeniable grace to its design. 

Sanji falls hopelessly in love with it in an instant. 

He knows he’s staring, is the thing. He knows he’s staring but he can’t look away. He’s got a light blue thin-strapped cocktail dress hidden away on the Sunny that would go  _ perfectly  _ with the robe. The two paired with his  _ favorite  _ stiletto knee-high black boots? Sanji is practically shivering at the prospect. 

_ God, I’m such a fucking freak. _

“H-hey, Sanji?” Usopp says. Sanji has to actively suppress the part of him that wants to jump in surprise. “Not that I’m complaining, but… well, why did you bring me along?”

Usopp is fidgeting a little too nervously, reminding Sanji a lot of the skittish kid they met back in East Blue. Sanji feels a little sick about causing Usopp such worry but... well. He’s plenty worried, too. 

“C’mon,” Sanji says and turns to lead the two off and away from the main path of the market. He locates a little coffee shop not far from the little boutique and snags them a small, secluded table near the exit. 

Usopp is downright shaking in his boots. (Sanji pretends he’s not shaking in his heels.) He orders them both a drink that the little shop boasts as its pride and joy beverage—a honey and lavender latte—and braces himself for his life to come crashing down around him. 

“Usopp,” Sanji starts. He has to pause to take a deep breath. “When you said, ‘if I had something to tell the crew, none of you would judge me’, what did you mean?” 

“Oh! Um,” Usopp titters. “Well, I didn’t mean anything in  _ particular,  _ I guess…” he lies gracelessly. 

“Usopp.” He stops babbling bullshit in his tracks. Sanji exhales on a shudder. “How did you find out?”

“F-find out what?” 

Sanji clenches his jaw so tight he thinks he’s in danger of cracking his own teeth. “About me. How did you find out  _ about me?”  _

“ _ I saw you and Zoro in the kitchen that night!”  _ Usopp squeaks out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to barge in or eavesdrop but I wanted to get a glass of water and Zoro was standing  _ so close to you  _ and then you  _ stuck your thumb in his mouth  _ and there wasn’t any… uh,  _ mistaking  _ the way that you two looked at each other… I’m sorry for butting in but—you shouldn’t have to hide something like that from the crew, you know?” 

Sanji feels numb all over. Stark relief and sheer panic are warring between themselves in his brain. Part of Sanji is  _ relieved  _ that Usopp doesn’t know the worst of it, doesn’t know how  _ depraved  _ he really is… Part of him is in a blind panic about the fact that Usopp  _ knows  _ he  _ fucks men,  _ knows that he wants to  _ fuck Zoro.  _

“Oh,” Sanji says, like a complete idiot. Usopp continues to putter and apologize until Sanji gathers himself enough to interrupt. “Usopp,” he begins (hating how shaky and uneven his voice sounds, even to his own ears) “It’s okay. Just… Maybe don’t tell anyone else?” he offers. 

“Oh, well, um—Luffy knows, I think? I can never really tell with him, you know how he is, but of course I won’t say anything… No problem, man.” Usopp feins coolness, forcefully relaxing his posture, calming his demeanor. 

Sanji can’t help the way he flinches, just a bit, at “man”. (It’s been getting harder, lately, he won’t admit… The feeling of being  _ lost  _ in his own body, the feeling of  _ disconnect  _ between his soul and his brain… With every “bro” Franky calls, every distinguishing comment between the  _ ladies  _ and himself—even something as simple as distinguishing the two cabins by gender—something in Sanji cramps uncomfortably.)

_ (You don’t fit,  _ the voice mocks, just as loud and unignorable each time.  _ You don’t fit either of those boxes, do you? Too masculine and brutish to be a woman, too feminine and emotional to be a real man… how long until you think they’ll find you out for what you really are?)  _

_ (How long until they realize you’re broken? Something that’s sick and warped and so, so wrong, never fitting anywhere? How long until they realize you’re just as much of an insatiable whore for cock as you are for any woman that pays you the time of day?)  _

_ (How long until Zoro protests your non-answer about what you are? Are you a queer or aren’t you? But we know the answer, don’t we?)  _

Soon they will, too. 

“Sanji?” Usopp sounds so fucking worried, suddenly, and it takes his voice to bring Sanji back to himself. He comes back to his body just enough to realize how fast he’s breathing, how uncomfortable the tightness in his chest and the cramping in his gut has become. He’s sweating. 

_ He must think you’re so gross,  _ the voice comments and that— that’s it. Sanji’s  _ done.  _

He stands so quickly that his knees bang the underside of the table. The two china cups of coffee clatter and decorate the table top with splashes. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just… Just realized I forgot something very important, is all,” Sanji stutters, grasping desperately for the scattered pieces of his composure. 

And then, he leaves. 

* * *

He buys the robe. 

(He also buys a room at the local inn, but no one but him has to know about that.) 

* * *

He feels sick, carefully shaving his legs that evening in the washroom of the inn. (He feels sick about it, but he’s not going to stop.) After he’s done, Sanji doesn’t put on stockings. The natural silky feel to his freshly shaved legs is too good to waste. In his quiet room for the evening, he slips into a pair of black lace panties and a matching corset (one of his more forgiving ones). Next comes the baby blue dress, the gorgeous, newly acquired robe, and his favorite black boots. 

Sanji pauses for a smoke and a drink before moving onto his makeup for the evening. (Something deep inside him has settled into this costume he’s slipped into. The thing inside him relaxed with every  _ schitck, schtick  _ of the razor gliding against the hairs of his legs. It’s almost enough to settle the low boil of  _ shame  _ that curls hot and heavy in his throat.) 

He’s just poured a glass of red wine when he hears it. 

Gunfire. Cannonfire.

Sanji rushes to the window and peels back the curtains. 

A man dressed unmistakably in a marine uniform carrying a den den mushi pauses at the mouth of an alley just visible from Sanji’s window. Four more armed marines rush past him as he cries into the receiver, “Strawhat Luffy and his crew have been spotted! They’re attempting to make an escape to the bay! Intercept them at all costs!” 

_ “Fuck.”  _

* * *

He changes in an instant, shoving his  _ other clothes  _ into the very bottom of his bag and taking off at a dead run down the stairs of the inn. Undoing the corset cost him valuable time, dammit, time he  _ doesn’t really have at this juncture,  _ so he elects to leave the shoes  _ on,  _ for the time being. 

Sanji takes off towards the direction of the harbor, felling marines left and right. They're really ridiculously weak. It's clear they were not expecting to run into any pirates of considerable strength on this island. 

(He kicks one so hard that the stiletto heel punctures the poor fucker’s  _ lung.  _ Another marine crumples when a particularly powerful kick sends collapses his  _ sternum  _ on impact . The heel of the shoe comes away dripping gore.) 

( _ It’s kind of badass.)  _

On the upside, when Sanji’s moving this fast and  _ breaking all the bones in their bodies,  _ no one can tell that he’s wearing knee-high velvet stiletto boots with  _ jeans  _ and a fucking  _ hawain shirt.  _

* * *

The fight is, overall, not that eventful. Blessedly, Sanji makes it back to the Sunny before the crew is driven off by marines. (Sanji immediately sits down to disguise the added height his current shoe-situation provides. At the first opportunity, he slips away, tucks his  _ other clothes  _ away in his locked chest safely, and switches out the blood-soaked heels for his usual.) 

He’s giddy with the thrill of a fight recently won as he ascends back up to the deck. 

“Sanji!” Luffy sees him and cries out, launching himself halfway across the deck. “Sanji, I want to have a party!” 

“Yeah! Party!” Chopper squeals in the background. 

Sanji sighs. “Really? Over such a small battle?” Luffy pouts. 

“But Sanjiiiii,” Luffy whines, splaying himself flat across the deck with the force of his disappointment. 

“I believe our captain has spoken, Cook-san,” Robin offers, smiling like giving Sanji extra work is Hilarious. (It's okay, he can forgive her. Sanji can always forgive Robin.)

Sanji ends up making enough barbecue to feed a small town for a month. The mood on the ship is infectious, everyone riding high off of such an exciting day. (Usopp, for his part, seems to have completely forgotten there was any tension between himself and Sanji left over from their conversation earlier.) He has all of his attention focused solely on protecting his meal from Luffy’s wandering hands. 

And Zoro… well… he keeps sending Sanji  _ looks  _ that can only mean one of two things— _ I want to fuck you into next week  _ or  _ I am going to strangle you to death with your own intestines _ —and Sanji’s hoping for the former. 

* * *

The party has long since wound down and Sanji stands alone in the kitchen, sorting through the mass of dishes he has to wash and humming a tune Franky and Brook had been singing all night long. He’s just turned on the water when a pair of familiar arms wrap around his waist and lips start to burn a hot trail down his neck. 

Sanji hums and leans back into the hold. He can feel Zoro smirk against his skin. 

“What’s this about?” Sanji murmurs, unwilling to break the comfortable bubble of silence that surrounds the two. 

“Everyone’s asleep,” Zoro offers, nipping slightly when his trail of kisses reaches Sanji’s earlobe. 

“Oh?” Sanji twists in his hold. Somehow, he always ends up with his back against the counter and Zoro boxing him in against it. He really doesn’t mind. Zoro’s chest burns hot against his own, even through their shirts. “Are you trying to seduce me, marimo?” 

Zoro flushes and ducks his head so that Sanji can’t see. “Is it working?” He grumbles. Something in Sanji’s chest, something predatory and hungry, purrs in contentment. He slides his own hand between the skin of Zoro’s back and the fabric of his shirt, stroking along the ridges of his spine. 

“You’re dense, but you’re not  _ that dense.”  _ Sanji grinds his growing erection against the heat of Zoro’s thigh. Zoro grunts and grinds back, nudging Sanji pleasurably up against the counter top.

Sanji’s got his other hand at Zoro’s chest and he takes  _ full advantage  _ of everything he learned last time they did this. He tugs and pinches and rolls the piercing around in Zoro’s nipple. With a gasp and a full body shudder, Zoro succeeds in further crowding him against the counter. '

“Stop that,” Zoro growls all while sounding, by all accounts, like he really would rather Sanji _continues doing it. _

Sanji chuckles and chases after his lips with his own. Kissing Zoro is definitely one of Sanji’s favorite things. It falls easily within his  top ten most favored activities. Maybe even within his top five.  He loses himself for a bit in the slick slide of their lips and tongues and teeth. Before he knows it, Zoro’s hands are fumbling his pants open and reaching past his boxers for his straining erection, and just as he’s starting to get really revved up, Zoro pulls away and looks between them. 

“Huh…?” 

You know that feeling when you jump into a really cold body of water and the cold comes on so fast that you go from pleasantly warm to objectively freezing in two seconds flat? 

Sanji’s skin has turned to ice. His blood has stopped flowing. Panic may be a steady boil... but terror? Terror is fucking frostbite. 

_ I never changed out of the panties,  _ Sanji realizes as Zoro pulls back to look between them. Where he had expected to find cotton, he’s now got a handful of lace, sticky with Sanji’s precome.  _ I never changed out of the panties, _ echoes around his brain uselessly. _ There just wasn’t time.  _

Terror is hypothermia.  It takes him down  _ hard.  _

Between one breath and the next ( _ well, metaphorically, at least. Sanji has completely stopped breathing)  _ he’s pushed Zoro back with a knee to the gut. Completely caught off guard, Zoro stumbles backwards a few steps, giving Sanji space to frantically button up his pants. Sanji doesn’t think he’s ever moved so fucking fast in his entire life. 

“Sanji,  _ what the Hell,”  _ Zoro starts, but doesn’t get to finish. Sanji’s  _ scrambling  _ for the door to the deck, realizes that Zoro will just follow, that the  _ rest of the crew is probably asleep out there,  _ and  _ why run towards your executioners?  _ Sanji turns tail,  _ vaults  _ over the counter and a bewildered (but  _ furious)  _ Zoro. “Cook! What—” But Sanji throws open the door to the pantry before Zoro can get there—the lockable, Luffy-proof, reinforced pantry that only  _ he has the key to _ —and locks himself inside. 

Zoro pounds on the door. “Sanji, what the fuck?” 

_ He doesn’t sound happy.  _

Sanji’s back hits the wall between a couple barrels of uncooked rice. He slides down to the ground on legs that suddenly can’t hold him anymore. His hands go to his head and bunch up in his hair, feeling the weight of an iron helmet that isn't there, bearing down on his shoulders like so much phantom pain. 

There’s panting and whimpering, like someone locked a beaten stray in the pantry. 

It takes Sanji a moment to realize those sounds are coming from him. 

“I will break this door  _ down, _ ” Zoro shouts. Sanji can hear him hitting the door. He says nothing. It’s not that he’s calling Zoro’s bluff or anything... It’s just that anything he could or would say is caught in his throat, stopped up like a chunk of gum. 

Either way, Zoro doesn’t break the door down. 

Time passes differently when you’re frozen with fear, Sanji decides. Between one moment and the next (or perhaps minutes or even hours) Zoro is there and then he is not. 

It doesn’t matter. 

(It does.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’re settled on top of each other, chest to chest. Zoro stares down at him like an angry, pouting child with a communication problem. (Correction; Zoro is an angry, pouting child with a communication problem.)
> 
> Sanji watches Zoro open and close his mouth like a fish, getting visibly more and more frustrated as well as more and more pink as his blush starts to rise. “I really like it," he says. 
> 
> "Oh." 

Of all the people Sanji expects to come for him, Nami is pretty far down on that list. 

He had imagined an angry Zoro, living up to his word and cutting down the reinforced door. Next, he had imagined Luffy, coming to tell him that they would be leaving him at the next island... that he was off the crew. He imagined Chopper coming to inform him that he was  _ sick,  _ but not with something that could be cured. He imagined Usopp coming, telling him that he didn’t feel comfortable sharing a bunk space with someone so confused, Franky following and saying the same, and Brook singing a sad song about Sanji and his incurable perversions. (He chooses not to think of Nami or Robin.)

He had never expected her to come. 

The darkness of the pantry (Sanji never got up to turn on the lights, he just couldn’t quite muster the energy for it) is permeated slowly as the door creaks open. _The spare key, _he thinks, belatedly. _Stupid to have forgotten, _the voice hisses. Nami’s favorite sandals click-clack faintly against the wood in a deliberate attempt to be quiet. 

“Sanji-kun?” She offers softly. Her eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness. 

(He had _never _expected her to come. He didn’t think that they would be this  _ cruel _ .) 

His words are stopped up in his throat. 

Nami turns on the lights and closes the door behind her. When she sees him, her eyes go wide before she tucks the expression away, but her concern is there—it’s not so easily concealed. 

“Right!” She exclaims, gathering resolve for something. (For what, Sanji can’t tell.) “Can I sit with you?” Nami asks, already moving to sit next to him on the floor. 

Language returns to him quickly, almost unconsciously. “Ah—Nami-san, you shouldn’t sit on the floor, I—”

“Shut up, Sanji,” she says, not unkindly. She’s smiling and, at the sight of it, something in him can breathe just a little bit easier. Whatever tension had unwound in him re-emerges in moments. _Your time is up, _the voice says. 

Sanji gulps, waiting for the death-blow. 

He doesn’t remember his early childhood well. His mother he recalls in bits and pieces. His brothers are but a series of remembered bruises and insults. He remembers the terror of his father’s rage and the chill of his disappointment. Most poignant of all, he remembers the cold of the dungeon where they left him to die. This moment feels like a remnant of that time. 

He breathes in and he’s small again, crouching in the darkness with the rats and the damp and the cold, waiting to die. He breathes out and he’s splayed out on a rock, waiting to die under the grim glare of the sun. He breathes in and he's standing, beaten and broken, before Kuma, surrendering his dream for Luffy's life, waiting to die for something _worth it. _

He sees the curl of Nami’s orange hair in the pantry light. He feels the phantom touch of Zoro’s hands on his body. He hears an echo of Luffy’s laugh in his memory... 

Sanji now waits to die a different kind of death. 

“We’re worried about you. All of us.” Nami says, gentle but firm in her way. “Zoro came out and woke everyone up, saying something was wrong and you’d shut yourself up in the pantry and wouldn’t talk to him. He was really worried, Sanji-kun. We all were. And then Usopp started looking  _ shifty  _ and eventually we got him to tell us about an interesting conversation you two had and about how you suddenly disappeared and reappeared just before we left. And then we were all  _ really  _ worried.” She laughs a little. “Luffy and Zoro were about to break the door down. Honestly… those two don’t have a single brain cell between them.” She stops there, and catches his eyes before looking back around the pantry. 

“Sanji, I want to tell you something. I don’t like men.” 

_ That… wasn’t what I was expecting,  _ part of Sanji offers, baffled in the face of her honestly (_in her lack of shame._)

“I never liked men. I... never really told anyone besides Nojiko and, well, Vivi…” she trails off with a sad smile. “I was so nervous about how I felt for her that I didn’t say a word, and then I caught that terrible illness before we found Chopper... As soon as I was better and awake, Vivi just planted a kiss right on me. God,” Nami chuckles. “She was so mad at me for making her worry so much that she just… grabbed me and kissed me. Then she burst into tears from the stress of it all.

“We got to talking a lot, her and I. I only like women but Vivi likes women _and_ men. In fact, she doesn’t really care about that kind of thing at all. I couldn’t imagine not caring at all, but... it’s just how she is. She told me that she just loves people, in all the ways they can come. I thought that was really cool. 

“My point in telling you all of this is that no one cares who you do or don’t sleep with, Sanji. It doesn’t matter because we all care about  _ you _ . Did you really think so low of us that you would assume us the type of crew to care about this sort of thing?” Her eyes are sharp and unrelenting when her gaze meets his. 

Sanji wonders what she sees, looking at him. It takes him a moment to gather himself, a moment to parse through it all, and even then, his heart still clenches uncomfortably. 

“Nami, it’s not that. There’s just… more going on and I—”

“Don’t trust us enough with it? Sanji, we’re  _ nakama.  _ What could be so awful to hide from us?” 

_ My birth-family. My shame. My…  _

“During those two years, I lived in the Kamabaka Kingdom.” The words leave him in a rush and it feels like dropping a bomb on his life and like releasing a heavy burden all at the same moment. The clash of the two feelings leaves him scooped out and empty, hollow in unexpected places. “There was a reason that warlord sent me there.” Nami is silent, waiting. Sanji inhales. Exhales. 

“Okay,” she says. 

He waits. But that’s all she says. 

“Really?” Sanji asks. “Just… okay?” 

Nami sighs like she’s talking to  _ Luffy  _ or  _ Zoro.  _

“Really, Sanji. Do you really think how you like to dress or who you like to sleep with would change things so much? There is a talking reindeer that practices  _ medicine  _ on our crew. There is a literal skeleton, Sanji. And a giant, obnoxious cyborg that refuses to wear pants and-and… engineers  _ nipples  _ just so he can put a piercing of our flag through them. Did you seriously think that—I don’t know, wearing a dress or something—would change how any of us feel about you?”

“But it’s—I’m—”

“I swear, Sanji, if you say it’s  _ wrong  _ or that you’re  _ wrong,  _ I’m going to convince Usopp to shoot your  _ balls off. _ ” 

He closes his mouth. 

“We love you, you idiot. God, and I thought Zoro was the dumbest, but you’re really giving him a run for his money…” 

“ _ Hey!”  _ An unmistakable voice shouts from beyond the door.

Nami springs to her feet. “ _ WERE YOU THERE THE WHOLE TIME?”  _

“...No,” Luffy responds. 

“Shut up, idiot!” Usopp hisses. 

“ _ BOUNDARIES,”  _ Nami screeches like an unholy spirit. (Sanji can’t stop himself from swooning at the majesty of her fury.) “ _ WE ARE ALL HAVING THE BOUNDARIES TALK AGAIN.”  _

Luffy and Usopp “boo” in chorus while Zoro calls Nami some unforgivable names. Sanji can hear Robin’s laughter like bells in the background. Franky and Brook and Chopper’s voices are there, too. Just beyond the door. 

Sanji inhales. Exhales. 

He opens the door and steps outside. 

* * *

It’s another lazy, blistering hot afternoon up on the deck of the Thousand Sunny. The inflatable pool has made a repeat performance. Usopp is valiantly trying to drown Luffy in it after the captain spilled Usopp’s smoothie overboard during a game of tag that had quickly grown out of hand. Franky comes lumbering over, ever the reluctant father, to separate the two. (Luffy’s gone still under the water of the kiddie-pool, but he’s still managing a deflated sort of squawk from his position, bubbles puttering up through the water.) 

Sanji notes the proceedings with annoyance. He’s gonna have to make Usopp a new smoothie. He’ll probably have to make Luffy a new one, too.  _ Goddammit.  _

But first, he has other plans. 

He climbs up into the crow’s nest, a special smoothie for Zoro on a silver tray. (This time, when Sanji emerges into Zoro’s make-shift gym, he doesn’t spill the drink at the sight of all that sweat dampened, glistening skin and the shining metal rods that cross through his nipples.) Zoro smiles when he sees him, his whole body stretched taut under the weight of a truly enormous barbell. Sanji sets the drink tray down on a small end-table, his summer heels tapping on the tile. 

Zoro lets the weight drop. He slings an ( _ enormous, Jesus)  _ arm out, catches Sanji around the waist, and tugs him in. 

“Knock it off! You’re all disgusting,” Sanji hisses, trying ( _ not too hard)  _ to squirm away. Zoro cackles and proceeds to rub his sweaty face all over Sanji like a fucking wet dog. “Ugh, fucking nasty,” Sanji grumbles. (He plants a single kiss to Zoro’s wet hairline anyways.) 

Zoro hums in thought, catching the fabric of Sanji’s ruffle-sleeve dress between his fingers. Sanji makes an effort to quiet the incessant pounding of his heart. 

* * *

It’s only been a few times since the crew discovered his secret that Sanji’s worn his  _ other clothes  _ around them. The first time he had done it, he’d practically vibrated out of his own skin with nerves. No one had commented, save Robin (“You look lovely, Cook.”) and, more unfortunately, Brook (“May I see your panties, Cook-san?”). To Sanji’s immense surprise, Zoro hadn’t even said a word. He’d simply stood up from the kitchen table, his face a  _ burning red _ , and scurried out of the galley, Luffy’s shrill cackles following him the whole way.

(" He looks like a tomato !”  Luffy had shrieked. Usopp, predictably, inhaled the water he had been drinking and then spit it all out, laughing and coughing hard enough to cry.) 

Sanji has dressed as he pleased since then and (to his relief) no one has really said much about it. 

Sometimes, Luffy will come up behind Sanji and drape himself over his shoulders so that when Sanji stands in his towering heels, Luffy hangs off of the ground like a particularly obnoxious cape, swinging his rubber legs from side to side. Nami will sometimes leave a little bottle of perfume or a tube of lotion, or a certain shade of lipstick among his things, claiming she had bought it for herself but decided it wasn’t for her. Robin may have given some weirdly supportive—if not very confusing—comments about different cultures with histories of gender-fluidity alongside various other scholarly remarks about the “redundancy of the binary”. Franky, for his part, now calls him “sis” as much as he does “bro.” Brook will occasionally ask to see his panties and Usopp will occasionally (albeit nervously) clarify which pronouns he should use on any given day. Chopper seems the most confused out of anyone about the whole thing. From his admittedly adorable perspective, Sanji just wears really, really soft clothes sometimes now. 

Really, the last one to say anything has been Zoro. 

* * *

Zoro pulls back from Sanji just a little, hands settling on the cook’s hips. His single eye is appraising as he gently turns Sanji side-to-side with his grip. The eye rolls slowly up from the heels on Sanji’s feet to the hem of the white midi dress to the pinch of the dress’ sash around his waist, the sunflower-yellow visible bra-straps that frame the pale skin of his throat, to finally the nervous tilt of Sanji’s glossed-up smile. (He hadn’t bothered with any other make-up today, deciding that it was frankly just _too hot_ for that shit.) 

Zoro’s face is unreadable. 

“So? You’re the only one that I’m waiting to hear from, marimo.” He intends for his voice to come out with confidence, totally unwavering. He wants it to be a  _ challenge,  _ not a plea. It gets caught somewhere between confrontational and an insecure mumble. 

(They haven’t even kissed since _that_ night, when Zoro had pulled him aside a bit after he had emerged from the pantry with Nami. Zoro had swiftly crushed Sanji’s lips to his own, forceful and demanding. “This changes nothing,” Zoro had all but  _ growled,  _ before practically scurrying off like a mouse. Sanji has been valiantly pretending that he isn’t  _ super fucking confused.  _ Zoro hasn’t so much as grabbed his ass, since. Now he's grabbing him all casual, like nothing is weird between them. Like nothing has been left unsaid.)

Zoro’s brow furrows like it does when he’s thinking pretty hard about something. 

“Don’t pull a muscle,” Sanji quips, but it comes out a little flat. 

With a frustrated grunt and a huff of air, Zoro tugs Sanji in close to his (sweaty, so disgustingly sweaty) chest. Zoro hooks his chin over Sanji’s shoulder like he’s trying to hide from him and mumbles, “I like it.” 

(Sanji makes a really valiant effort at not acknowledging the butterflies in his stomach.  _ Gross,  _ his brain comments.  _ Could you be any less infatuated? _ ) 

“Huh? What was that?” 

Zoro squeezes his hips hard, once and mumbles. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“I said I  _ like it,  _ you shit-cook.” Zoro’s hands attach like magnets to Sanji’s ass and in a flat  _ second,  _ he’s airborne. Zoro hefts him like he’s nothing and, just as soon as Sanji gets his damn bearings and wraps his thighs around the other’s waist, Zoro’s got him flat on his back, laid out on the ground. 

“Asshole!” Sanji kicks him lightly in the side. Zoro grunts and shimmies down between Sanji’s splayed-wide legs. They’re settled on top of each other, chest to chest. Zoro stares down at him like an angry, pouting child with a communication problem. 

(Correction; Zoro _is _an angry, pouting child with a communication problem.) 

Sanji watches Zoro open and close his mouth like a fish, getting visibly more and more frustrated as well as more and more pink as his blush starts to rise. “Out with it, you’re heavy.” 

“I  _ really  _ like it.” 

There’s an undeniable  _ husk  _ to his voice. 

“Oh.” 

Of all the reactions Sanji had anticipated, this was not one of them. 

Zoro drops his burning red face down to Sanji’s chest. Sanji feels him take a deep breath in, his nose buried in the fabric of the dress. When he exhales, Zoro groans like a dying man. ( _ A man dying of blue-balls,  _ his brain supplies, entirely unhelpful.) Zoro’s hips give a tiny, involuntary jerk into Sanji’s. 

“Do you know,” Zoro grumbles, his voice gone lust-drunk, “how fucking good you smell?” Sanji can’t help it. He  _ squirms  _ under the praise. “Like your damn cigarettes and fucking  _ flowers  _ and _ you  _ and…” he trails off with another groan and an aborted grind of his hips. “I want to fucking  _ swallow you.”  _

“Jesus, that shouldn’t be sexy. Why is this sexy? Jesus,” Sanji groans, arching his back while Zoro licks a possessive stripe up his neck. He pauses when he reaches his ear, teeth tugging on the soft, vulnerable skin. 

“Sanji,” Zoro murmurs, fiddling with the fabric of Sanji’s dress with frantic, fumbling hands. “Sanji, I want…” he goes quiet, hiding his face between the illusion of breasts created by Sanji’s bra of choice. 

“C’mon, anything,” Sanji replies, too far gone to care about how ridiculous and embarrassing this is. He  _ wants,  _ goddamn it. He  _ wants him.  _

“Want you… want you to fuck me,” Zoro manages, clear as fucking day. 

Sanji’s ears  _ ring.  _

“No,” Sanji responds. Zoro’s body tenses all over. “I want you to fuck me instead.” God, he sounds so fucking  _ needy.  _

Zoro pulls back just enough to meet Sanji’s eyes. “You’d… let me do that?” 

Sanji feels himself blush all the way down to his  _ toes  _ goddammit, but he shrugs anyways. “I'm offering, aren't I? Get on with it before I change my mind,” he grumbles, looking  _ anywhere but at Zoro.  _

(Keeping his eyes open becomes pretty impossible the next second anyways when Zoro slides his hands up Sanji’s thighs, dipping beneath the skirt of the dress  _ so achingly slow… _ ) 

Zoro catches the fabric of the cornflower yellow lace panties between his fingers and groans like he’s been shot. Suddenly, he retracts his hands and replaces them on Sanji’s thighs, gripping so hard Sanji’s sure he’ll bruise. He pulls them open wider, crawling into the space he makes between them. Zoro’s broad shoulders keep his legs open when his hands disappear and reappear, hard and hot just where Sanji wants them. Zoro gives Sanji’s dick a  _ squeeze  _ through the damp fabric of the panties. 

Then the absolute  _ fucker  _ licks his lips. 

_ Fuck it.  _

Sanji works his core, gets his thighs tight around Zoro’s neck, and uses the leverage to topple the other man over onto his back. Sanji shifts where he’s seated on Zoro’s chest. He hikes his dress up around his waist, flashing a hint of dainty-yellow fabric underneath as he does it. 

Zoro’s hands are on his ass now. A single finger teases Sanji’s hole through the fabric of the panties. 

“Jesus, you’re…” Zoro murmurs. Sanji hums. Grinds back down against the searching finger. “Fuck, Sanji. We need,  _ shit—”  _ he breaks off into a low groan when Sanji rocks back against that  _ damn _ finger and manages to press his thighs down and rub over those  _ damn _ piercings at the same time. “Slick, Sanji. Oil, lube, something,  _ fuck. _ ” 

A small jar of fragrant oil later, Zoro has three fingers buried to the knuckle inside Sanji—still perched on his chest—and he’s making a valiant effort at sucking Sanji off through the fucking panties. 

Sanji feels  _ filthy. Ruined. _

And he’s harder than he’s  _ ever fucking been in his life.  _

“N-now,” he half moans, half sighs, dick twitching with each gasp of breath he tries to take. Zoro groans like a man dying and the vibrations from his lips is a tickle against Sanji’s positively  _ weeping  _ dick _ .  _ He feels his hole clench and flutter around Zoro's fingers involuntarily at the sensation. “Zoro,  _ now.”  _

Zoro pulls away from his crotch. His mouth drops open, his piercing glinting wickedly in the light. “But you beg so nicely,” Zoro says.  Sanji  _ squirms.  _ He crooks his fingers, searching and continues, “Never thought I’d see this… You’re just so  _ pretty…”  _

_ Damn it all,  _ Sanji thinks, and opens his mouth to respond just as Zoro finds his prostate. Lightning skitters up his spine and his sultry attempt at saying “pretty please” turns into a  _ scream  _ that sounds ridiculously like _“PEAS_ _ _!_”  _

Zoro cackles but gets Sanji on his back anyways and— _ oh look at that— _ tosses the  _ ruined  _ panties over his shoulder, like a barbarian. Sanji goes to tell him as much but then—

The blunt head of Zoro’s cock nudges against the swollen, greedy pucker of his ass and all he can bear to do is hook his legs around Zoro's waist and pull him  _ as close as he can  _ and— 

Zoro slides home. Sanji watches, mesmerized, as his single eye rolls back into his head. His golden earrings chime as he bows his head forward. His shoulders are nearly vibrating with tension, and Sanji can’t help but  _ touch.  _

“Zoro—”

“ _ Sanji—”  _

“Are you—?”

“Can I—?”

“ _ Please,  _ oh—”

Zoro slides out and back in again. They moan in tandem, lost to the sensation. Sanji’s never been so full, so complete. The dress that they never took off is sticking to his chest with sweat, the smell of sex will probably never come out, but he couldn’t care less so long as Zoro doesn’t stop  _ doing that _ — 

“Oh god, never stop,” he babbles, completely lost to the push-pull tide of Zoro’s thrusts. 

“Fuck, cook… You’re so—” Zoro cuts himself off and bends impossibly closer, chest-to-chest, to steal a  _ filthy  _ kiss. 

He picks up the speed of his thrusts and angles Sanji’s hips just so. 

Sanji’s lips open up in a soundless cry of ecstasy and he feels it—the tongue piercing sliding against his kiss-swollen bottom lip—and just like that, he's gone. 

He comes explosively and entirely untouched between them. 

Zoro jackhammers forward once—then twice more, and stills, twitching inside of him with a long and satisfied groan. 

Chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, they catch their breath. 

(It’s fucking perfect.)

* * *

At dinner that night, Luffy stands up and asks Nami to, “Pass the ‘ _ hnnn-Zoro—PEAS’!”  _

(It is Zoro that ends up reluctantly fishing Luffy out of the ocean. Usopp is laughing too hard to  _ stand,  _ let alone swim.) 

* * *

So, maybe Sanji is  _ gay,  _ or maybe he’s not. He still loves the ladies but he might also love Zoro, too. He likes his three-piece suits just as much as he likes his dresses, some days. Maybe that makes him_ extra-gay_. Maybe he’s a man that’s just... also a woman sometimes, or maybe he’s neither, or he could even be something entirely new. Whatever.

The only thing he is that matters is  _ happy. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for accompanying me on this insane ride. I'm so grateful for all your lovely comments and all your support. It all means so much to me!
> 
> You should all go check out this [amazing fanart](https://trixree.tumblr.com/post/189147006001/holy-fuck-dude) by [rucifie](https://rucifie.tumblr.com/) of cross-dressing Sanji. It took my damn breath away

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](https://trixree.tumblr.com/)


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